


Hell Has No Stars

by ObliObla



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hell was a bad time, How Do I Tag, Light Angst, Lucifer is also bad at feelings, Maze is bad at feelings, Pre-Canon, Tumblr Prompt, unrequited feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 16:38:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15644718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObliObla/pseuds/ObliObla
Summary: From luciferprompts: Lucifer shows Maze the stars he created





	Hell Has No Stars

She doesn’t know why he has brought her to Earth. No battles rage around them; no sins sing in the hearts of men. In fact, there is no one. They are entirely alone, standing on the edge of a vast sea.

He had called her to his chambers. She’d assumed he sought relief—having just dismantled another demon rebellion—and had begun biting down his neck, parting his black silken robes to reach smooth muscled chest, when he pushed her away. Casting the fabric to the floor, he manifested his wings.

She stared. She had only seen them in the throes of combat, soaked with the blood of countless enemies, ripping out throats with their sharpened primaries. Now they shined with their own light, splayed serenely against his back. She suppressed a shudder. Divinity, to demons, was torment, but her master’s torment was always sweet.

“My Lord?”

His gaze landed on her. “I must go above. Accompany me.” He offered his hand. She took it before realizing that it hadn’t been an order, had nearly been a question.

He wrapped her in his arms, his wings beating around them as they shifted through planes, landing on this beach.

He is watching the waves now as they advance and recede, an expression she has never seen before on his face. He glows in the golden light of the setting sun. She wonders if Heaven’s light shines so purely, then berates herself for the thought.

She, like all demons, is a creature of the night, and she thanks the great mother Lilith when the sun finally disappears beneath the waves. It is their time and now, perhaps, they will hunt. Her heart beats faster as she licks her lips.

But no orders come. He does not slide into the shadows. His wings are still extended, gleaming brighter still in the darkness, and he sits, leans back, reaches out an arm.

“Lie with me,” he says. There is no carnal intent in his voice and she hesitates, unbalanced. But he is her lord and she will obey.

He withdraws his wings as she approaches, allowing her room to settle back on the sand. He gazes upward as she waits, confused.

The last of the sun’s rays disappear beneath the horizon and she gasps, unbidden, as lights fill the sky.

She panics for a moment—fascination with the celestial is tantamount to treason—but he simply laughs, glancing at her. She can see the shine in his eyes.

“Don’t worry, Mazikeen, none of my siblings created these. They are called stars,” he says softly. He smiles with the same strange look as before; she might call it longing. “And they are mine.”

Her gaze strays back to them and she watches as they shiver in the black. “What are they?” she asks. She has never questioned him like this, not over something so seemingly inconsequential. But something tells her this is far from meaningless.

“Fire,” he whispers. “Burning so hot it has lost its color.” He stretches a hand up above them. It ignites in reds and oranges that fade to yellow then white as the intensity of the flames makes the air shimmer and her face flush nearly to the point of pain.

The fire fades to a flicker and he drops his hand back onto the sand. She wants to ask another question, but this casualness is unfamiliar. She is his most favored demon, his highest lieutenant, allowed unparalleled access to his person, but even she is not permitted… _this_. Not the softness in his eyes nor the awe in his voice. And certainly not the near innocence in his expression.

She hates it and yet it fills her with a shimmering heat, unrelated to the fire.

He interrupts her thoughts, answering her unasked question, or perhaps he simply wants her to know, wants anyone to know who doesn’t look at him with hatred and disgust. “They are innumerable, or nearly so, each one vaster than all the realms of Hell,” he says. He rests his head on his crossed arms. “They have lived for billions of years and will live for billions more. And when they die they explode into glory, feeding the birth of new stars, or else they burn themselves out, dull and cold.”

“Do you know them? All of them?” she asks. Her throat feels rough with a peculiar emotion and she feels her eyes sting like they’ve been rubbed with sand.

“Every one.” His voice is so filled with something she cannot comprehend that she tears her gaze away from the beauty of his creations.

His eyes are wet and leaking, fixed on the stars in the sky.

She can’t look at him, can’t look away from him. She is unmoored. She wants to grab him, shake him out of this, but she is afraid she might break him, and that is such an impossibility she can’t even let herself consider it.

He blinks. A tear runs down his cheek. He turns his head, meets her eye and the strange spell they have been under abruptly ends. He leaps to his feet, brusquely brushing sand out of his hair.

She rises, uncertain.

His fingers are shaking against his scalp, but his voice is steady, cold. “We should return. The pit of despair demands my attentions.” He casually extends a hand.

She ignores the shudders still running down his arms as he takes them back to Hell. When he releases her his face is hard and fire blazes in his eyes. He takes a deep, deliberate breath, shrugs his robes back on, and stalks out of the room.

She makes to follow him, but her toe brushes against something. She glances down. A single feather, encrusted with sand and salt, shining like his stars, rests on the hard stone floor.

And if sometimes she catches him staring at the black and lifeless firmament of Hell with that look she might call longing, well, she hopes he would forgive her the feather, gleaming in the darkness, hidden in an abandoned corner of his palace.

Not that she would ever tell him.


End file.
